


Of Returns, Dreams, and Magic

by elirwen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elirwen/pseuds/elirwen
Summary: Arthur's long sleep in the waters of Avalon comes to the end. Albion needs him. His friend needs him.-----------------------Can be read both as friendship or pre-slash.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Mordred/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	Of Returns, Dreams, and Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for "Resurrection: BBC Merlin Fanthology".

"It’s time to wake up," a feminine voice filters through the hazy fog of images permeating his slumber. He tries to ignore it, bury himself back in the calm vision of soft, lush grass, trees whispering in the breeze. "It’s time for your return," the voice says, insistent.

A touch to his cheek, his chest, stomach. Warmth envelops him, almost like a hug.

"Goodbye, my king," the voice says.

Sharp pull. Biting cold of water, shocking enough to stop him from breathing in. Up, up, up he’s pulled until his body breaches the surface. Frigid air on his skin, frantic gulps of it entering his lungs. He stumbles out of the lake, falling to his knees on its grassy bank. His whole body trembles, weak and freezing. Black dots dance in front of his eyes and he slumps to the ground.

"Here!" someone shouts.

The voice sounds familiar.

He’s rolled onto his back. Fingers press to his neck, his brows.

"Thank the gods," the same voice mutters, breathless, relieved. 

He uses the last bit of strength left in him to drag his eyes open, and his heart skips a beat before it starts racing. He wills his body to move, to get away from the man, but his limbs barely twitch. 

"It’s all right. Don’t move. I won’t hurt you," the man said. "Not again. Never again."

"Mordred," he tries to say, the word coming out jumbled, his awareness slipping away, his killer’s smile the last thing he sees.

———

When he wakes again, he’s lying on a comfortable bed, wrapped in several blankets. Sun is shining through the open window and a stranger sits in a chair next to the bed, reading a book. Mordred is nowhere to be seen. He wonders whether he should try to escape, but he doubts he’d get far in his weakened state.

The man is no longer reading. Instead he’s lifting Arthur’s head, pressing a cup to Arthur’s lips. The faintly sweet liquid soothes his parched throat. The man is talking but Arthur can’t concentrate on the words. Sleep drags him under.

———

Fifteen hundred years of sleep. Arthur laughed when he was first told, refusing to believe such a preposterous claim. Now he sits and stares at this new world, his chest tight with mourning of the life long forgotten. 

"Why am I back?" he asks, watching the heavy grey clouds hanging above the grassy landscape.

"The land needs you," Mordred says. "Your return at the time of Albion’s greatest need had been foretold ever since…" He trails off.

‘Ever since I killed you,’ he doesn’t say. 

Who would have thought he’d get to talk to Mordred again? Who would have thought he would look at the face of his killer without feeling betrayal twisting in his gut? Who would have thought he’d find the familiarity comforting?

"Why are you back?" Arthur asks.

"Penance, I suppose," Mordred says with a shrug. "I remember dying. I remember lying on the cold, hard ground, empty, my life flashing in front of my eyes. I remember wishing things were different." He is calm, stable. No anger or resentment left. "Then I woke up on the shore of the lake almost a year ago. A group of druids found me. A water sprite had led them to me. They helped me regain my strength, told me about their mission."

He pauses, turns towards the railing of the balcony and stares into the distance. 

"Magic is seeping out of the land, retreating to Avalon. Magical creatures can either follow or die. And once its guardians are gone, nature withers away, the trees barely blooming, the harvests poor." 

There’s real sadness in his words, his eyes. 

"I can’t help with that," Arthur says. "I have no magic of my own."

"You can’t stop what’s happening, but you might have the power to bring back the one who can."

———

Merlin is alive. 

He wants to be mad at Mordred for waiting a week to tell him, but he understands. He would have wanted to see Merlin the moment he was told, except he would have been too exhausted to even leave his room. He would have wasted precious energy attempting to convince them, slowing his recovery, prolonging the time until he could see his friend.

Merlin is alive, and yet… 

"It was only after they found me that we were able to find him," Mordred says, his voice soft, reverent. "He hid this place well, but I could feel the pull of his magic, as if it wanted me to find him."

"Who did this to him?" Arthur asks.

He can’t tear his eyes away from the translucent tree that looms over Merlin’s prone form. Tendrils of gently pulsing light link his limbs to it, running up into the rich treetop, entering each and every leaf and burying themselves in the wooden floor of Merlin’s ancient mansion. 

"No one knows for sure," Mordred says, stepping closer, his fingers trailing over the smooth surface of the tree. "But I can feel the flow of his magic. He doesn’t struggle against it. He radiates a strange sense of relief." He looks Arthur’s way. "I think he did this to himself."

"Nonsense. Why would he?" Arthur asks.

"Wouldn’t you be tired if you were to live for over a thousand years, alone, without a single soul to share your fate?" Mordred says, caressing the tree, as if trying to soothe its ache. "If you watched people around you die and the world change, forget."

Just the thought of it hurts. Arthur searches Merlin’s face for signs of the time that has passed, but he’s no different now than on the day of Arthur’s death, his skin pale and smooth, no wrinkles, no grey hair. His chest rises and falls, the same rhythm as the pulsing light. He seems to be at peace.

"I think he wished for an end, but I doubt he intended to drag all the world’s magic with him," Mordred continues. "He didn’t realize he was its last keeper."

"How can I get him out?" Arthur asks, approaching the tree, tentatively touching its surface.

It’s warm, soft to the touch, and he pulls his hand away with a gasp when his fingertips sink inside.

"It’s fine. It won’t hurt you," Mordred says, letting his own hand sink into it. "It looked like a light dancing through the air the first time I saw it over six months ago. It solidifies with each passing day, but it’s still possible to walk inside and breathe with no problem."

He takes Arthur by the hand and pulls him into the wide trunk of the tree. It feels like water against his skin, and it takes all his willpower to trust Mordred’s words and take his next breath. It smells of sweet tree sap. 

———

"You didn’t manage to reach him. Why do you think I will?" Arthur asks, taking Merlin’s hand in his own.

It’s just as warm as so long ago, when it held him close as he drew his last breath. 

"I can guide you to his dreams. He wouldn’t let me in, but I doubt he will refuse you," Mordred says. "Only his own choice to wake up will bring him back."

———

"Ready?" Mordred asks, his hands touching both Arthur’s and Merlin’s wrists.

Arthur nods and closes his eyes. His limbs grow heavy. 

He sleeps.

———

"Let’s have you lazy daisy!" 

Arthur huffs in discontent. Merlin’s voice is too cheery for this early in the morning.

"You have knights to train, council sessions to lead, speeches to make," Merlin says, the unpleasant words about work followed by even more unpleasant feeling of a blanket being pulled away from his body.

"Go away," Arthur grumbles, burying his face in the pillow. 

"Can’t do that," Merlin says and drags him off the bed.

As he dresses, eats, exchanges insults with his insolent manservant, he feels like there’s something that he’s forgetting. But the feeling is soon gone .

———

Sun is warm on his skin, breeze fresh as it ruffles his hair. They didn’t catch any game but Arthur doesn’t care. It’s nice to simply lie in the grass and do nothing. He feels a slight weight settle on his hair and opens his eyes to find Merlin leaning above him. 

He touches the thing on his head, his fingers meeting soft petals and blades of grass.

"A flower crown? Really?" he asks.

"King needs his crown." Merlin imitates Arthur’s words from when he was getting ready for a feast with foreign dignitaries. 

"And peasants need a proper wash," Arthur quips back, propelling himself up and chasing Merlin towards the lake, letting the crown fall to the ground where it will be safe from the water and horseplay. 

———

"Focus, Arthur!" he hears someone say. "You need to focus!"

He looks around, slowing his horse’s gait.

"Everything all right?" Merlin asks, watching him with concern.

There’s this strange feeling of missing something, one that’s been pursuing him for weeks. But then Merlin touches his wrist and it’s gone.

———

Peace reigns over the land, the harvests are plentiful, the people happy. With his gentle queen and his most trusted advisor by his side, Arthur leads Camelot into its golden age.

———

"Come look at the numbers. I think we can…" Merlin’s voice fades away.

"I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do," a voice whispers in his head.

His chambers darken, turn into rocky pass. He has a sword in his hand, his chainmail covered in the blood of his enemies. A man approaches. Young, dark-haired. He lifts his sword. Pain blooms in Arthur’s chest.

"Mordred," he gasps, staring at the wall of his chambers, his hand pressing to the wound that isn’t there.

"What?" Merlin asks, looking up from the latest harvest report.

Memories rush through his mind. His death, his return, his mission.

"Why did you say that name?" Merlin asks, the report falling from his fingers, forgotten.

"None of this is real," Arthur says, taking a step towards Merlin. "You need to wake up."

"No…" Merlin whispers. "How do you… There’s no… You’re not supposed to say this." He presses his hands to his face, covering his eyes. "Why can’t I do this right?"

"Merlin…" Arthur starts, laying his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

"No!" Merlin shouts, backing away. "No," he whispers.

They’re not in Arthur’s chambers anymore. Instead they’re back by the lake, surrounded by flowers of all colours, dressed for hunting.

"Let’s go for a swim," Merlin says, determined to maintain his happy dream, and heads towards the water.

"Merlin, please, listen to me," Arthur says, rushing after him. "The world needs you."

"No, it doesn’t," Merlin says without turning back. "It never did."

"The land won’t survive if you leave," Arthur says. "It won’t survive without magic."

"It can have all my magic. I don’t need it!" Merlin shouts. "I want peace and quiet. I want to dream of a world that no longer exists, that never existed." Tears stream down his face, and he collapses to his knees. "I want the pain to stop."

Heavy clouds fill the sky, the meadow loses its blooms, the dark surface of the lake of Avalon stretches to the horizon. Far from the shore, a lone boat sways on the gentle waves.

"I shouldn’t have returned Excalibur into the lake that day," Merlin says, his eyes never leaving the boat. "I should have ended it right there and then."

Arthur kneels in front of him, blocking Merlin’s view of the funeral vessel. He takes his hands, tries to rub some warmth into them.

"I am real," he says, repeating the words when Merlin shakes his head.

"Hurry!" Mordred’s voice reaches his ears. "We’re running out of time."

Arthur sighs, bowing his head in defeat. Mordred was wrong. There’s nothing he can say that will convince Merlin to wake. A glint of silver catches his eye. There’s nothing he can say that will convince Merlin to wake, but who says he need to use words?

He unsheathes the dagger from the scabbard hanging on his belt, the slow deliberate movement catching Merlin’s attention. 

"What are you doing?" he asks.

Arthur offers him a sad little smile, gripping the dagger with both of his hands, its tip turned towards his stomach.

"It doesn’t matter what I do. I’m not real after all," he says, sucks in a breath and moves his hands further away from his body.

"No!" Merlin cries out in time with Arthur’s hands retracting in one swift stabbing motion.

———

Arthur jolts awake with a gasp, blinking into the near darkness of his surroundings. His hand tingles where it touches Merlin’s skin, the strange feeling spreading up his arm.

"It took too long. We can’t get away now," Mordred says.

With each passing second Arthur can see more of his surroundings, realizing what Mordred’s words mean. The tree trunk has solidified, leaving them trapped in its hollow, unable to escape the rush of Merlin’s returning magic. The same magic that is currently creeping up Arthur’s arm, illuminating the cramped space. 

"I don’t know what will happen to us," Mordred says, pale with exhaustion and worry, his hands still on their wrists, held there by yet more bright tendrils of magic.

And then Merlin wakes.

Magic tears through Arthur, making him cry out, arching his back off the bed in agony. White fills his vision as the power flows through his limbs, scorching hot, brutal, endless.

———

Darkness.

Something cold settles on his brows. Fingers card through his hair. He forces his eyes to open, fighting the heaviness of his eyelids. His vision is blurry and an attempt to move results in barely a twitch of his limbs.

"It’s all right," Merlin says. "I’m here."

Arthur gives up his fight for consciousness. 

———

"You spent two months in Merlin’s dream," Mordred says, sitting in a chair next to Arthur’s bed.

While Arthur still couldn’t handle more than a few minutes out of bed, Mordred’s recovery from the magical overload has been much faster thanks to his own magical talent. 

"Two months?" Arthur asks, shocked. "It didn’t feel like two months."

"It definitely felt like forever for me," Mordred says, laughing.

———

The spring rolls by. Nature blooms, vibrant with the nurturing touch of the freshly returned magic. 

Arthur touches the rough bark of an apple tree, tracing the tendrils of power coursing through it. It’s still new to him, sensing the flow of magic around him, feeling its warmth in his chest, its tingle at his fingertips. It’s strange and difficult at times, but mostly it’s fascinating and beautiful.

"Dryads from Forest of Dean are bickering again," Merlin’s voice pulls his attention away from the tree. "We should head over there quick before they turn the forest into a jungle. Again."

"What about Mordred?" Arthur asks, steps towards Merlin and takes his hand. He hasn’t mastered teleportation spell yet—and maybe he never will, as his talents incline more towards elemental and natural magic—so he needs Merlin to drag him along.

"Already there," Merlin says, tightening his hold on Arthur’s hand.

A familiar pulse of Merlin’s magic envelops both of their bodies, pulls them through space.

———

"So what is this grand announcement you have for us," Arthur asks after they exhaust the topic of Mordred’s upcoming visit of the unicorn preserve in southern Scotland.

Merlin shifts forward in his armchair.

"I think," he starts and pauses, his eyes darting from Arthur to Mordred and back again. "That day when you woke me up, I think I didn’t just give you magic," he speaks to Arthur, "and strengthen yours," he directs at Mordred. "I think I made you immortal too."

Arthur meets Mordred’s gaze, the twinkle of amusement in Mordred’s eyes mirroring his own as they both think about nearly twenty years of watching their faces not change, and they burst into laughter.

———

Their faces red from laughter but otherwise calmed down, they sit on the wide, cushioned armrests of Merlin’s chair, bumping into Merlin, who grumbles something about disrespectful youth. 

"You won’t be alone ever again," Arthur says.

He doesn’t resist Merlin grabbing his hand, linking their fingers together. Neither does Mordred.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and/or kudos are ♥.
> 
> [My tumblr.](elirwen.tumblr.com)


End file.
